Noah Puckerman, Crocodile Hunter
by Sassy26
Summary: Frustrated with his unsuccessful attempts at moving his friendship with Rachel into friendlier territory, Puck goes to drastic lengths to prove he is leading man material and as rugged and masculine as Rachel's celebrity crush. Warning: Cracky.


_**A/N: In case you haven't guessed already, I'm a proud Aussie. **_

_**Knowing that majority of the awesome peeps who frequent ff dot net are American, I usually try to keep the Australianisms in my work to a minimum to prevent confusion.**_

_**I often resent having to do this though – particularly so when one of my awesome betas (who yes, is American) makes her edits and suddenly all the 'u's' are dropped from certain words or my s's are replaced with z's. A car boot becomes a trunk, a chemist is now a pharmacy, runners are apparently tennis shoes….sometimes it does my head in!**_

_**I was bitching about this on Twitter one day to the Australian contingent (Brooke, Tash and "it's Brittany, bitch") and we started joking about writing an Aussie!Puck fic and inserting as many Australianisms as possible, purely for our own amusement.**_

_**After many collaborative discussions, here we are. **_

_**Warning: It's more than a little cracky and is not supposed to be canon so just go with it, ok?**_

_**Thanks to Tash and Britt for their always helpful suggestions and to Brooke for the awesomeness that is HummelBerry.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>For Brookemopolitan's birthday. Sorry it took so long!<br>**_

_You know, this was all Rachel Berry's fault,_ Puck decided miserably as he lay on the crisp sheets of his hospital bed, drowsily staring at the stark white ceiling while he waited for the anti-venom to take affect and the morphine to kick in. His entire right hand was triple its usual size (courtesy of the bite inflicted by Mike's kid brother's pet snake) and throbbing painfully, and not even the fresh-out-of-med-school intern, who had inserted his IV and caressed his bare shoulder in a manner that was decidedly less clinical than it ought to have been (not that he was complaining), could make him forget that tonight had definitely _not_ gone as planned.

***/***

So, it was news to no one (except maybe Berry herself) that Puck kind of had a thing for her. Sure, her mouth always ran at a mile a minute and she could make a guy want to blow his own brains out having to listen to her go on and on about the _'impact of expressionism in the pastiche of the post-modern theatrical world' _(what the actual fuck?) but she was smokin' hot and her legs alone were enough to secure a good portion of his attention these last three years as she danced around the choir room – even when Brittany had wandered into Glee shirtless (something that happened more frequently that you would think) and Santana had sat next to her, running her fingertips teasingly over the back of the blonde's bra clasp, causing Finn to hoarsely chant _"mailman, mailman, mailman_" for the duration of the entire hour-long practice.

It wasn't _just_ that Rachel had a tight little body and was probably the hottest Jew (aside from Puck himself) in at least a 100 mile radius that had him forgetting the laws of bro code he'd sworn to uphold after so royally violating them sophomore year. No, see she happened to be a total sweetheart and baked, legit, the most delicious cookies in the entire world. Add to that her unwavering belief that he was destined for more than just a brown cotton apron and a minimum wage job at Sheets-n-Things, and it was enough for Puck to declare her the cheese to his macaroni, the coke to his JD, the Maria to his Tony or the…._Jesus Fucking Christ_. It had only taken three years of show choir but he was finally turning into a giant fucking fruit. The fact that he was actually familiar with the storyline of West Side Story and knew that the relationship of those two characters alone had secured the production a place on Rachel's list of top 5 favorite musicals, was enough to have him reaching into his pants and adjusting his junk, just to ensure they were, you know, actually still attached to his body, or start macking on the nearest girl – any girl, it didn't matter who - to ensure he hadn't turned into a flaming homo.

Anyway, point was, when Rachel had turned up to school newly single after summer vacation and Finn had started dating a random junior Cheerio no one could remember the name of, any promises Puck _might_ have made in the past to stay the hell away from her were pretty much shot to shit.

Suddenly, Rachel was strutting the halls in her little school girl skirts, shooting coy little smiles in his direction and looking 10 times hotter than he remembered her being the year before. With the clock ticking down to graduation and his chances with her diminishing every day as they drew closer to her leaving for NYC and her freshman year at Julliard, Puck had thought, _fuck it_, it was game _on_.

Sure, he was often accused of thinking with the head in his pants, but he wasn't a complete dick; during an epic C.O.D marathon with his best friend, Puck had broached the subject of maybe/sort of asking the petite brunette out, and to his surprise, after confirming that Puck's intentions weren't completely on the down and dirty, Finn had given his blessing or whatever, rather than the attempted ass kicking Puck had been expecting.

He'd made a few half assed attempts at wooing her since then; he'd partnered her in Glee, gritting his teeth but saying nothing when she chose every fucking Celine Dion song ever recorded for them to sing. He'd sat (eyes drooping out of sheer boredom) through her very favorite Streisand movie a record _three fucking times_, and subjected himself to polite small talk with her father's just so he could sit next to her at Temple and whisper dirty things in her ear during the service, taking perverse pleasure in the way she would place her hand on his thigh and shoot him warning looks in a (frigging weak) attempt to get him to stop.

But whenever she'd looked at him from underneath her dark lashes, giving him the universal green light he thought, and he believed the timing was right to cash in his reward for schlepping her shit from class to class, she seemed to turn a blind eye to his advances and always made some shitty comment about what a wonderful _friend_ he was proving to be to her.

He was left wondering whether her time as Finn's girlfriend had actually succeeded in dumbing her down. That had to be it, because there was no way she could actually believe he would drag himself out of bed at the ass crack of dawn every Saturday morning to meet her for whatever vegan shit she _claimed_ passed as breakfast food, because all he was looking for from her was friendship.

He wasn't saying that being her friend wasn't awesome in its' own way. So maybe he bitched when she rode his ass over his grades (which were steadily improving thanks to the endless supply of flashcards she'd made to aid his study), and she never appreciated his uncanny ability to find a dirty euphemism in practically any statement ever uttered (it was a skill, ok?), but he kind of liked just hanging out with her. He looked forward to the quiet moments when it was just the two of them; he dug just chilling in her room with her as they listened to music, or lying on her insanely comfortable bed as she fluttered around, refining her acceptance speeches for the multitude of awards she was confident she would win.

He even liked trailing her around the kitchen as she made dinner, teasing her when she squealed as she cut into the chicken she was preparing to feed him and her dads, coz even if they supported her Vegan lifestyle, they lived firmly by Puck's own rule – men needed meat. Even if no-one would think it of her, Rachel enjoyed taking care of the people she loved, and this was her way of doing it, despite the fact that cutting into dead animals was likely to give her nightmares or provoke her non existent gag reflex (yeah he knew all about that, don't think he hadn't filed that bit of info away for later).

It was just that….well, Rachel knew him, alright? Or knew him as well as he allowed anyone to, he guessed. She knew the lengths he was willing to go to when he was out to impress the chick he had more than just a passing interest in, having secured herself a front row seat during the disastrous babygate scandal, watching as he bent ass over backwards to prove to a pregnant Quinn that he could be kick ass father to their baby.

She'd seen also the way he had practically neutered himself in his eagerness to become Zize's bitch. Hell, when he dated Rachel herself for those few (too) short days in sophomore year, he'd taken a slushie in the face, serenaded her with a song by one of the bossest Jews around, Neil _fucking_ Diamond, and quit football just so he could hold her hand and sing show tunes – and he hadn't even made it past second base!

So knowing all that, it was a mystery to him how she could be so oblivious to his attempts at moving this friendship of theirs into a _friendlier_ territory. The alternative was that she was fully aware of his attentions and was ignoring them because she legitimately wasn't interested in him. Whenever thoughts along those lines cropped up he pushed them away. He knew women, ok? She _was _interested.

His other theory was that she was hesitant to give in to him, wary of his reputation that had grown even more colorful following his split with Lauren months before. Whilst he hadn't returned to his cougar-chasing ways, there had been a few women this past summer, and it seemed those stories had made the rounds and become more and more embellished during each retelling, until it seemed like he'd fucked the entire female population of the greater Lima area over the break.

Rachel was smart though, and having been the subject of ridiculous and completely false rumors herself, she wasn't usually one to buy into that type of gossip. However, she was also incredibly insecure when it came to relationships so it was possible that even if she was open to dating him again, she was allowing his past exploits to cast doubt over the possibility of a relationship working out between them.

He knew if that _was_ the problem, then he was fucked, and nothing he could say would alleviate her apprehension.

No, he had to _show_ her that they could work. Prove to her that he was man enough to withstand the diva fits she threw when things didn't go her way (though he was smart enough to duck when she lost out on a solo to Mercedes or Santana, or god forbid, _Quinn_). Hell, he needed her to understand that her craziness was the thing he dug most about her. Even though she believed in him, maybe more than his own Ma some-days, he wanted to prove to her that he had learned from his previous mistakes and that he could be the kind of boyfriend she deserved. Problem was, now that he was stuck firmly in the friend category, he needed to take drastic action and propel himself back into leading man territory.

How to do that though? Well, he was still working on that and had been coming up blank in the ideas departments until one day before Glee practice, when the fates looked like they might finally be smiling in his direction.

***/***

When the idea came to him, Rachel had been gabbing with Hummel about some Tony guy's award broadcast, and Puck had been trying his best to ignore them - right up to the point where Rachel had flushed pink and crossed her legs as she argued with Kurt, causing her skirt to ride up on her smooth, tanned thighs as she basically declared (in her know-it-all way) that her opinion was right and anyone who disagreed with her could pretty much go to hell.

Since he was sitting directly behind them at the time, he'd basically been forced to listen to them go on and on about some guy named Hugh (or was it Stew?) and his (according to Rachel) superior dance and vocal skills when compared to the dude from _How I Met Your Mother_, whose character Puck legit wanted to be when he grew up.

It was then that Rachel herself had been the one to give Puck the inspiration he'd been looking for, and a game plan had formed.

_: Begin flashback:_

"_It was the best Tonys yet." Kurt sighed dreamily as he and Rachel entered the choir room arm in arm. They were among the first to arrive and selected two seats in the first row, directly in front of Puck who was idly strumming his guitar. "Don't you agree, Divalicious?"_

_Rachel smiled warmly at Puck before she sat down and turned her full attention back to her best friend, pondering his statement, "Actually Kurt, I have to argue that Idina's performance of Defying Gravity in 2004, and the raw energy of the Spring Awakening cast during the 2007 broadcast were, undisputedly, better individual performances," she critiqued. "However, I agree that it was an absolutely fantastic night and it needs to be said - Daniel Radcliffe is demonstrably so much more than just Harry Potter. I was so proud of him!" she added enthusiastically._

"_That he is," Kurt agreed before crossing his legs daintily and leaning his elbow casually on the back of his chair, "but let's get down to it; Neil Patrick Harris and Hugh Jackman. Their skit was just fabulous, wasn't it?"_

"_Absolutely!" Rachel gushed in agreement, "Hugh Jackman proved, yet again, that he is perfection." _

_A sudden silence ensued and from behind them Puck saw Kurt's mouth open and close without emitting a sound. He continued to pluck at the strings and chuckled to himself as the younger boy just stared at the brunette beside him. "You're joking, right?" Kurt questioned after a minute, his eyebrow arching practically to his hair line. "You have to be. You can't actually believe that Hugh Jackman's performance was better than Neil Patrick Harris'." _

"_Of course Hugh was better. He danced circles around Neil." Rachel claimed with a dismissive wave of her hand. She reached her hand into her pink trolley to retrieve her yellow binder, preparing to revise the notes she had written after their last practice. Finn was constantly coming in to early on the chorus on the piece they were working on and she just knew, despite her tutelage, that Sam had been pitchy this past week._

"_Oh come on, Rachel," Beyoncé was growing irritated now and his porcelain features were flushing with annoyance as he leaned forward, his manicured hand gripping Rachel's forearm. "You cannot be serious. No way can that oaf compete with the finesse and polish of Neil's act."_

"_Hugh Jackman has the stronger voice, Kurt, you can't refute that." Rachel stated firmly, shaking off Kurt's hold. "And I don't know if it can be attributed to the fact that he's Australian or not," she continued, a slow smile spreading over her face, "but he just oozes charisma; his stage presence is so….compelling." _

_It was at that point that Puck had really started paying attention to the spat going on in front of him. Rachel's voice had gone all breathy at the end there and she looked to him like she was creaming in her panties. _

"_Oh you just like him because of the way he looks." Kurt claimed, his good humour returning as he flashed a knowing smirk, "Wake up and smell the hairspray, Diva. You can't go around casting your leading men solely on their looks or their singing voice. Case in point: your relationship with Finn." Rachel scoffed as he sat back with a satisfied grin, believing he had successfully argued his point._

"_Well you only like Neil Patrick Harris because he's gay!" she accused. "Kurt, baby," she drawled mockingly; "this is Broadway; it's not like gay guys in musicals are in short supply."_

"_Listen, darling…" Kurt started, condescendingly._

"_Oh, don't darling me darling!" she shot back. They both paused and shared a smile at the retort she had stolen straight from the silver screen; Priscilla: Queen of the Desert was just one of the movies they jointly worshiped, but they could pay tribute to the talents of Guy Pierce and Hugo Weaving another day._

"_Hugh is the most delicious piece of man candy, I won't deny it," Kurt conceded, "but we both know that you're only defending him so passionately because of his bulging biceps and that masculine jawline."_

"_That's simply not true!" Rachel declared fiercely, wounded that her best friend would dare suggest she couldn't objectively assess a performance because she allowed an attractive face to cloud her judgment. If she'd been standing, there would have been definite foot stomping._

"_In 2004, Hugh Jackman won both the Drama Desk and Tony Award's for his portrayal of Peter Allen in The Boy from Oz. In addition, he has hosted the Academy Awards, has a strong filmography, and has starred in one of my favorite musicals of all time, Oklahoma," she recounted loyally. "Being so muscular, his body is not naturally inclined towards dance, and he's worked incredibly hard to compensate for that. He's also a consummate professional, as demonstrated when he continued to perform as Gaston in Beauty and the Beast during its Sydney run, whilst suffering a urinary tract infection that lead to a lack of control over bodily functions on stage. Neil Patrick Harris, while an excellent performer, has nowhere NEAR this list of credentials." _

"_And… you think he's pretty." Kurt tacked on, tongue in cheek._

_Rachel sighed and rolled her eyes, she could continue to argue her extremely valid points, but it was clear she was getting nowhere. "I won't deny that he is gorgeous - the man was bench pressing 300 pounds before shooting commenced on a film in his latest franchise. But it's going to take more than just exquisite bone structure and an adequate voice to get me this time around, Kurt. I allowed those things to trap me in a relationship with Finn - a relationship that I outgrew long before our breakup, and you saw how much of myself I sacrificed to be with him."_

_Kurt nodded solemnly. While he adored his new big brother, he had to admit that Finn was a terrible boyfriend to Rachel. She deserved better._

"_So tell me then, what are you looking for?"_

"_Why, the whole package of course," she answered with a small, self-derisive laugh. "In addition to a love of music, physical good looks and having similar interests to mine, a Jewish ancestry would be favorable. But more importantly, he has to have a backbone and the ability to speak his mind, even when, and perhaps, most especially, when he disagrees with me."_

_Kurt was listening carefully, his lips pursed thoughtfully as she listed the qualities she was looking for in a potential partner. It wasn't that he disagreed with the mental checklist she had composed for herself, in fact, it was quite the opposite. He had always known that Finchel had an expiry date, that Finn just didn't have what it took to deal with the unrestrained fire and passion and fierce determination that Rachel Berry exhibited. It was just that, well, Rachel liked to get her own way, and it surprised him that she recognized what she truly needed was a sparring partner, someone who could keep up with her and who was strong enough to challenge her and give her that extra push when she needed it. _

_Rachel must have sensed exactly what he was thinking because she smiled wryly and said, "I know that I'm not always the easiest woman in the world to be with, and while I wish to be respected in my relationship, I'm well aware that sometimes I need someone to stand up to me and tell me when I'm being overbearing and ridiculous – lovingly of course."_

_At some stage during their discussion, Rachel had turned so she was sitting sideways in her chair. As she spoke, her eyes drifted involuntarily to Puck who seemed to be absorbed with tuning his guitar but unbeknown to her, was intently focused on her conversation._

_Kurt smirked when he saw where (or to whom) her attention had diverted to. "Know anyone that fits that description?" He inquired innocently, inwardly snickering. _

"_Hmm?" Rachel's eyes flickered back to Kurt. "No, no one."_

_Kurt just shook his head at her and sighed. He loved his best friend but sometimes she was so frustratingly obtuse._

_: End flashback:_

Puck hadn't liked the way her eyes had got all sparkly and shit as she talked about this Hugh guy, it was too reminiscent of her obsession with Finn and it set his teeth on edge. The goal here was to have her looking at _him_ all crazy-like and even though he hated to admit it (because hello, he was a motherfucking stud), he wasn't doing so well on that front. Now he's not saying he needed help landing chicks, because his reputation spoke for itself, but this particular chick came with her own damn rulebook and sometimes he felt like he was reading a language no-one had even invented yet. Any edge he could give himself as he continued his pursuit of her was an advantage.

With that in mind, he had Youtube-d this Jackman dude and the first video to come up was some movie he had starred in – aptly named _Australia_. Puck had clicked on it (against his better judgment) in an effort to understand Rachel's apparent fascination with the guy. However, he didn't get very far because the start of the trailer showed that anemic-looking stick insect who was more famous for having served as Tom Cruise's beard – sorry, _wife_ – than for any work she'd done on her own, and Puck _hated_ her, so he had shut that shit down pretty quickly.

He thought back to Rachel's conversation with Kurt and searched instead for '_Hugh_ _Jackman,_ _Boy from Oz'_ and after forcing himself to sit through 10 minutes of dancing and singing, Puck had to grudgingly admit the guy seemed like someone Rachel would consider her 'type' - a thought that annoyed him greatly.

_Fuck those arty-farty theatre douches_; he'd cursed to himself, annoyed. She had no trouble admitting that one time, how turned on she was by Puck's 'bad boy image' (and why the hell was that 'ironic'? shit was totally understandable - his guns were fucking impressive), so he knew he was on her radar. Her breathy moans and grabby hands when he'd kissed her were a pretty good indication that the chemistry he felt that always burned red hot between them, was not just one sided.

So why then, just when he thought Rachel's taste in men could only improve now that she'd shed the dead weight that was his idiot of a best friend, did she have to show interest in another one of those pansy-ass, musical metros? If she really was attracted to the more manly men (which was only encouraging for his chances, he thought) why couldn't she crush on that dude who wrestled crocs for a living? What was his name? Irwin. Steve Irwin.

Bored, Puck had typed _"Croc Hunter"_ into his internet search browser and spent the next four hours watching clips of the self proclaimed Wildlife Warrior in action. He felt his interest grow after each and every download – the dude was fearless! Now _there _was a man to be admired and swooned over, and not a sequin, top hat or tap shoe in sight!

From what he'd learned in Geography – you know, when he wasn't blowing spit balls at the skanky red head he'd fucked the semester before (and suffered a trip to the free clinic and a 10 day prescription for his trouble) - Australia was a rugged, sprawling country with a list a mile long of things that could legit kill you during your visit. No seriously, they had the biggest, deadliest spiders outside the Amazon! Snakes, sharks, weird looking jellyfish…and don't get him started on koalas; those cute and cuddly teddy bear things that you thought just slept a lot and ate fucking eucalyptus? They were actually totally vicious and Puck had read a story where one had bitten some chick's nipple through four layers of clothing!

Boxing kangaroos? Enough said.

So yeah, Rachel going gaga over an Australian dude wasn't so out there, it was kind of understandable. Hell, after watching his boy Steve in action he was a little in love himself and it only made the thought idly circulating his brain, that maybe he could like, adapt his personality a bit to draw her attention, a little more credible.

That same night, Puck had given the invite sitting discarded on his seldom-used desk more attention that he'd previously figured it deserved. The party was being thrown by Tina, but with Mike's parents off visiting the homeland, Tina had traded super-secret Asian girlfriend favors for the use of the Chang's sweet, tricked out pad - complete with an outdoor heated pool and hot tub, and a renovated basement decked out with enough retro video and pinball machines to make every single dude they knew weep with envy.

For no apparent reason Tina had decided it was a fancy dress party, which was fucking ridiculous because A) Halloween had come and gone and b) the chick wore a tutu to school practically every day so he failed to see why she was so excited about the whole idea. Now Puck wasn't usually one for costumes, and when Tina had initially given him the black, glittered invite he'd snorted and told her he looked damned fine and was totally awesome in his own clothes, thank you very much, but he was suddenly inspired. So Rachel thought Australian's were _compelling _in a way American's weren't? Well, his plan was to show up in character and coax Rachel's panties right off with his faux Australian charm (the fake bit being his accent, _obviously_, the charisma was just something that came naturally).

After months of biding his time and contemplating the best course of action when it came to putting _Operation: Puckleberry _into effect, Puck had come to the realization that he needed to bring his A++ game in his quest to win her over. Sexts, and random compliments veiled with his special brand of innuendo just wouldn't cut it if he wanted a _real _shot with her, and not just a brief repeat of their hot-as-fuck make out sessions in her Polly Pocket bedroom, that she might just end up regretting later.

Rachel was the type of girl who demanded effort and thoughtfulness, and given how into that theatricality shit she was, he figured at the very least she'd get a kick out of his costume of choice (and call him a pansy and he'd go all Fight Club on your ass, but her smile alone was worth the effort).

Knowing that Rachel herself never did anything by halves, he took a leaf out of her book - he researched, almost obsessively so. He continued to watch every Croc Hunter episode he could find on the web, scoured Ebay for authentic Aussie apparel, and spent hours pacing his bedroom – slang book in hand – perfecting his accent and familiarizing himself with the uniquely Australian dialect (but even after all that prep work, he still had no idea what the fuck 'dry as a dingo's donger' was supposed to mean).

He pulled up in front of Mike's on the night of the party in his dirty green 'ute' decked out in cargo shorts, his combat boots, a genuine Khaki Australia Zoo button up shirt (unbuttoned of course) over a blue wife beater (or tradie's singlet as the Aussie's called them), an Akubra on his head and a slab of Fosters under his arm - courtesy of his fake ID and the 'for emergencies only' cash his mother kept tucked in her bureau drawer. He wasn't all that concerned about her reaction when she eventually found it missing; the woman was bat shit crazy about Rachel and if his efforts tonight played any part in getting them together, his Ma would probably bake enough brisket to feed the entire fucking continent as her way of saying thanks.

He wandered through the downstairs area, nodding to some of the cooler dudes on the football team, searching for his pint sized Jewish American Princess and ignoring the stares of those who were clearly jealous of his kick ass get up.

A shirtless Sam, who was painted a bright blue from head to toe, actually hooted when he caught sight of him. "Nice legs, bro," he laughed, elbowing Mercedes who shot her boyfriend an annoyed look before taking in Puck's appearance and spluttering with laughter.

"Oh Lord," she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Who stole your pants, white boy?"

Puck bristled at their ridicule. "Yeah, well at least I didn't come dressed as a Smurf and a…" he furrowed his brow at Mercedes' sequined dress and 70's beehive style hairdo "whatever the hell you're supposed to be," he finished lamely.

"I'm not a Smurf!" Sam cried indignantly as Mercedes quickly lost interest in the conversation and left. "I'm Jake Sully."

Puck just stared at him blankly.

"He's Navi," Sam supplied. "From _Avatar_?"

His explanation was fruitless.

"Hey guys," Finn appeared out of nowhere and injected himself into their conversation. "What's up?"

Puck briefly glanced at his best friend, choked back a laugh and made an exaggerated frightened face in Sam's direction, "Oh no, it's Gargamel! Run!"

"You're an asshole," Sam sulked, stalking away, annoyed that his attempt to pay homage to one of his favorite movies was being mocked. Finn meanwhile, was glancing down at his own costume and frowning.

"Gargamel? What? Dude, I'm Yoda," from between the folds of his brown robe he produced a toy light saber that Puck quickly caught the handle of, preventatively halting any movement his accident prone friend might have made with it.

"Careful with that, mate. You might take someone's eye out."

Finn sheepishly nodded in understanding and allowed it to be taken from him and tossed harmlessly into the corner.

"Hey, you seen Rach around here anywhere?" Puck attempted to make the enquiry casual but Finn grinned at him knowingly.

"She was still at my house with Kurt when I left, threatening to stab him with sewing pins if he didn't stop trying to make last minute adjustments on her costume. We took separate cars but they should be here any minute."

Puck nodded, "Sweet. Well, I'm gonna put these on ice," he gestured to his beer and headed out the back door towards the garage where he knew from past visits, he could find another refrigerator in which he could store his beer and not have some random fuckers helping themselves throughout the night.

"Cooeee!" he called a few minutes later, walking back into the crowded kitchen with packages of frozen seafood he had liberated from the Chang's overloaded freezer out back, "Who wants to throw some shrimp on the barbie? I have…." he trailed off when the crowd suddenly parted like magic and he caught sight of a recently arrived Rachel, looking hotter than he'd seen her look in his entire life. When he managed to drag his gaze away from the miles and miles of tanned leg on display, she caught his eye and smiled, slowly skirting around the half a dozen people congregating around the counter mixing drinks, and making her way towards him.

He quickly dumped his cargo into the sink and his large hands immediately dropped to span her waist when she came to stop in front of him.

"Crikey, Rach-" was all he could manage as he drew her in closer and half spun so she was leaning against the counter with his larger body blocking any chance of escape.

"Hello Noah," Rachel greeted, reaching up to gently flick one of the corks dangling from his Akubra. "I like your costume," she giggled, allowing her hand to rest on his arm. "It's very….."

"Rugged?" he supplied with a smirk. "Masculine?"

"I was going to say _surprising_, but yes, I suppose you do look very rugged and masculine." She agreed readily, absently squeezing his bicep. She looked down and her smile widened, "I don't believe I've ever actually seen you in shorts, unless it was for football training."

Puck pouted, what was it with everyone making a big deal about the shorts? Sure they were on the tight-ish side, and yes he would feel a lot more comfortable if they reached his knees at least, but shit, he took care of his body and his thighs were fucking impressive ok?

"You have nice calves," Rachel complimented randomly.

"Thanks, I like yours," he returned with a flirtatious grin, making yet another slow appraisal of her body, lingering appreciatively on those legs, peeking out from under her strapless, sparkly green dress, appearing even longer and more toned thanks to her nude platform pumps. "Who you supposed to be?" he added when his eyes finally returned to her face.

She laughed and swatted him playfully, "Tinkerbell of course," she gave a little shimmy and he could hear the faint sound of bells that made him grin.

"Of course," he echoed teasingly.

"I wanted to be Elphaba," Rachel continued, a disgruntled look coming over her face, "But Kurt said that costume wasn't sexy enough," he laughed outright at her apparent lingering resentment over the fact that, once again, Kurt vetoed her choices and dictated her wardrobe.

"Listen to Kurt," he advised, "You look hot."

She blushed and ducked her head, her wings bobbing gently behind her, "Thank you."

"RACHEL!" They both turned to see Brittany in a full cat costume waving and gesturing for Rachel to come over and join her on the other side of the room where she stood with an (unoriginal) Satan-a and a bored looking Quinn, looking demure as always in her Alice of Wonderland costume.

She turned apologetic eyes back to him. "I should go and socialize. I'll see you later?"

He nodded and winked, watching her ass until she disappeared from view.

"Hey Puck!" Sam had returned in a better mood. "What do you say to an Australian on his deathbed?" he didn't wait for a response. "G'die!"

Puck shot him a withering look and headed back to his secret stash for another cold one, subtly trying to tug the hem of his shorts down a couple of inches. If he couldn't manage even a few uninterrupted minutes alone with Rachel this party was going to suck.

***/***

It was a full two hours before Puck had the opportunity to talk to Rachel again. She'd been working the room, taking care to talk to each Gleek in turn before Kurt and Mercedes had dragged her off to the karaoke machine and the three had entered into an impromptu diva off that, when majority of their friends had tactfully declared they couldn't possibly decide a winner when they were each just _so_ good, had ended with screeching (Kurt), foot stomping (Rachel), and a loud rant that everyone but Sam had tuned out (Mercedes).

"Hey," he caught her as she exited the washroom, obstructing her path back to the party, and subtly boxing her in until she backed up against the wall and peered up at him with bright, smiling eyes.

"Hello," she returned quietly. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yup," he admitted easily, though he hadn't really gone out of his way to socialize at all, being too wrapped up in watching Rachel laugh as she allowed herself to be drawn onto the makeshift dance floor with Blaine and later, Mike.

"Good," she paused a beat and waiting for him to say something else. When he didn't, she touched his wrist lightly and smiled again before taking a small step forward, expecting him to step back and let her pass.

He didn't budge.

"You look really pretty tonight," he declared suddenly. "Not that you don't always, but you've taken it to a whole new level of hotness tonight."

Rachel licked her lips almost nervously, "You said as much earlier," she reminded him. "But thank you. And as I mentioned previously, your attire tonight is quite becoming. Your character's dialect requires a little work thought." She added as an afterthought.

He laughed at the fact she just couldn't help critiquing his act, even when she was in the midst of paying a compliment. When he felt her warm palm rest on his arm, his confidence soared as he realized she was making no further attempt to return to the party, which, coupled with the Dutch courage a few beers had given him, probably led to his next move.

"Want an Australian kiss?" He propositioned roguishly, leaning in close and nuzzling the side of her face.

He didn't imagine her sharp intake of breath or the way her nails dug lightly into his bicep.

"An Australian kiss?" Rachel repeated naively.

"Yeah," Puck replied, "It's like a French kiss," his hand left her waist and inched just under the hem of her dress, brushing his fingers over the smooth skin of her thigh, "Only down under,"

"Noah!" she pushed his wandering hand away, blushing. "I'm going to get something to drink and you-" she pointed at him and paused, uncharacteristically flustered and lost for words. "Stay here."

He waited half a beat then trailed her into the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and sighed, rolling her eyes, "What now?"

It was cute how she tried to appear all annoyed and stuff.

"Why are you following me and cornering me in dark passageways?"

Puck shrugged, "Want to," he answered simply, "You're the best looking sheila in this joint; can you blame me for wanting to keep you all to myself?"

She paused, studying him thoughtfully. "You've been doing that a lot lately," she said eventually, "requesting my undivided attention."

At her words, he felt his heart begin to pound as he thought, _this is it_. He was finally going to admit that the increase in text messages and phone calls between them and him spending practically all his free time at her house was because he_ like_, liked her, and he wanted to take their relationship to a non-platonic level.

If he got the chance, that is. She was still talking.

"I know it's been difficult for you since your mother started dating again-"

His lazy grin faded to a scowl; he didn't want to think about his Ma and that pasty white putz she had been attached at the hip to since meeting at Temple a few months before.

"You've always been the man of the house and I understand that since her attention is now divided between you, your sister and the new man in her life that you feel somewhat neglected, but Noah-"

"I have no idea what you're yapping on about," he interrupted bluntly. "But I'm not hassling you just because my mommy has a new boyfriend and I can't stomach watching them make goo goo eyes at each other across my breakfast table."

"Then why-"

"I like hanging out with you," he stated plainly, honestly, cutting her off once more. "And it seems like we haven't done a lot of that lately."

"That's not true!" she objected immediately, genuinely upset at the insinuation that she had been disregarding the friendship she had come to value so highly. "We spend a great deal of time together. We had dinner just last Tuesday."

"With Finn and Blaine Warbler." Puck countered. "If Jesse St Pubic Hair had shown up it would have been a gathering of all the dudes you've sucked face with," he added petulantly.

She fought a smile at the sight of his exaggerated pout. "We had slushies together on Wednesday," was her next reminder.

"For an hour after your ballet lesson!" he negated, "Try again, babe."

"Well Thursday we-"

"Baked cookies with your dads, plural." he finished for her. "I meant quality time, Rach, just you and me." His voice had dropped to a murmur as he stroked one long finger down her arm.

"I'm free tomorrow," she offered immediately, feeling her skin tingle in response to his touch. "My modern dance class was canceled so I have the whole day. We'll meet for breakfast as usual and then I'm all yours."

He smirked, enjoying the sudden breathlessness of her tone. Yep, she was definitely not immune to the patented Puckerman charm. Far from it, in fact.

"All mine, huh?" he mused huskily, watching the color blossom in her cheeks. "I like the sound of that."

She discretely swiped her bottom lip with her tongue as he leaned in, only to close her eyes in frustration and let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding when they were interrupted by Kurt excitedly calling her name as Gaga began to play on the stereo in the other room.

Rachel continued to gaze up at him, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear that had escaped her loose bun.

"Come find me later," she requested quietly, though to be honest it was more of an invitation than a question.

He winked in response and pushed back from the counter so she could brush past him.

She really had to stop this walking away from him bullshit, he decided moodily. His expression changed from annoyance to appreciation though as he watched her hips sway in that dress. Sure, he might hate to see her leave but he'd be damned if he didn't love to watch her go…..

***/***

A short while later, Puck was taking another long pull of his beer and staring at Rachel across the room through hooded eyes when he decided enough was enough. He finished his can and crunched it in his fist, throwing it carelessly to the floor. Pushing off from the wall he had been leaning against, he stalked purposely towards her, taking care to avoid that Sugar chick who was always licking her lips suggestively when she made eye contact with him. When he made it to Rachel's side, he snatched her hand and continued walking, tugging her right along with him.

"Noah!" she squeaked in surprise rather than protest, giggling a little and wiggling her fingers until they were laced more comfortably through his. "Where are you taking me?"

"Croc Hunting," he answered as they skirted the crowd in he kitchen and crept to the backdoor.

"In Ohio?" She laughed but good naturedly shushed when he made a zipping motion to his mouth as they slipped outside and stealthily pressed themselves against the side of the house.

"Crikey, look at the size of that one!" Puck motioned to Finn who was standing by the keg with a bunch of footballers, laughing generally with the group at whatever was being said. "Male crocs can grow up to 8 feet long and are most aggressive when their territory is threatened, you know."

Rachel bit back another laugh as the boy next to Finn pushed his shoulder a little and the quarterback stumbled, almost landing headfirst into the fire pit. "Aggressive, sure," she agreed looking up at Puck indulgently. "So what do you plan to do in light of this amazing discovery?"

"M'gonna wrestle it, babe," was Puck's immediate response. He puffed out his chest and winked at her, taking the Akubra off his head and placing it on hers. "Watch me, Rach. Watch me take him down with nothing but raw strength."

As he let go of her hand and suddenly leaped from the shadows with speed and agility she would have thought was beyond him in his inebriated state, she screeched, "Noah Puckerman! Just what are you planning to do with that rope?"

Five minutes later, after a short struggle, yells of encouragement (the small crowd) and whining protests (Finn), Puck stood proudly with the boot of one foot planted firmly on the middle of Finn's back, the latter who was lying face down in the grass, his legs and arms tied behind him.

"Puck one, Croc zero," he declared with a triumphant grin, looking around to ensure Rachel had seen him. She had, and her expression was alternating between exasperation and amusement as she walked towards him.

At that same moment Kurt came bustling out of the back door, clucking impatiently at Rachel, "There you are Diva, I've been looking everywhere for you! You have 15 minutes till curfew, so get your tiny butt in the car and I'll drive you home." He paused, his gaze finally shifting from his friend to Puck, before falling on his brother, on the ground and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

"Finn, I have a full car with Blaine, Mercedes, Rachel and Sam – you're ok to drive yourself home, right? You haven't been drinking, have you?"

Finn made a strangled noise as Puck pressed down on his torso and Kurt took that as confirmation and turned back to Rachel, "Dear Lord, where on earth did you get that hat?" he asked disdainfully, tugging it off her head and thrusting it into her hands. "Snap, snap," he clicked his fingers at her, "Let's go!"

"Just a minute, Kurt," she requested turning back to Noah, completely ignoring Finn who was ineffectually struggling against the ropes that bound him. "I have to go," she told him needlessly, regretfully. She reached up and placed the Akubra back on his head and tugged playfully on the brim, as she smiled up at him. "Thank you for taking me on your croc hunting expedition, I had a lovely time."

Puck grinned back at her and opened his mouth to reply when she stood on her tip toes to brush her lips against his cheek, "Goodnight Noah," she said as she walked away, tossing over her shoulder, "And please untie Finn. While his dance skills are notably lacking we do need him to compete in Regionals next month; I'd appreciate it if you could see to the return of feeling to his undoubtedly by now, numb limbs."

"No worries," he managed, resisting the urge to place his fingers over the spot on his cheek that was still tingling. It was only once she had disappeared from her line of sight that he leaned down and yanked Finn to his feet. He whipped an impressive looking hunting knife from the sheath at his calf and (ignoring Finn's alarmed yell) swiftly cut the ropes from his wrists and ankles.

"Dude," Finn stuttered with wide eyes, rubbing his chafed wrists. "That was freaking insane!"

Puck shrugged modestly, "Look mate, I'm out of amber fluid and you're doing nothing but standing around like a stale bottle of piss," he determined. "Drive me to the bottle-O?"

"The what?" Finn scrunched up his nose in confusion.

"The liquor store," Santana supplied, appearing out of nowhere in her skin tight red dress whose plunging neckline left nothing to the imagination. "Puckerman needs more beer and you're the only sober one here. I could go more Vodka," she added unnecessarily. "I'll come with."

Puck stared at her, impressed at her easy translation of the foreign lingo it had taken him the better part of that week to perfect.

The Latina just shrugged, "My family hosted an Australian exchange student last year, remember?"

Puck furrowed his brow, coming up blank and Santana laughed, "Don't hurt yourself," she teased. "I told you all about him. He called a condom a _franger_ and you nearly broke his nose when he told you he liked wearing thongs and thought you might too."

Oh yeah, he remembered now. Well how was he supposed to know the bloke was talking about footwear and not slutty, lady fabulous underwear?

Santana's full lips has twisted into a sly smirk as she followed his train of thought and said, "It was around the time you and I were still hooking up, and I think you were over-sensitive about that time I made you wear my black lace-"

He quickly covered her mouth to prevent her from finishing her sentence and pulled her to his side, leading her towards the front door and beckoning Finn to follow. She elbowed him sharply and mumbled an irritated protest against his palm but still Puck refused – he couldn't have her revealing any details of their previous sex-capades that portrayed him in a less than enviable light, and somehow he knew that that particular tale would garner him more ridicule than admiration.

***/***

After a quick detour through the Burger King drive thru for a ravenous Finn, they returned from the liquor store to find the party winding down. They were more than half tanked by this stage, with the bottle of Vodka Santana had purchased from a pimply faced cashier enamored with her breasts, already half empty. The drunken comrades stumbled through the door with their arms around each others waist, swaying in time to the song Puck was belting out.

"Here's to Satan, she's true blue! She's a pisspot thru and thru!" he sang at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of all the stragglers that hadn't left yet. "She's a bastard so they say, she tried to go to heaven but she went the other way, she's going DOWN DOWN DOWN DOWN!"

The small crowd cheered as Santana skulled the beer Puck thrust into her hands and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and scowled when she was done. "Jesus fucking Christ, Puckerman. What is that shit? You call that beer?"

Puck just shrugged and flopped down on the beer stained sofa – Chang was going to have his work cut out for him returning his house into its previous pristine condition before his parents returned from their trip. "It's true blue Aussie piss, sweetheart. 'Sides, if you drink enough, it stops tasting like ass 'round the forth tinnie."

Mike entered the room then with a large black garbage bag, already trying to clear some of the mess, when he stopped in his tracks and stared at Puck and the blue heeler cross perched randomly at his feet. "Dude, did you steal my neighbour's dog?"

Puck scoffed, "Course not. Sue here just followed me." he held his hands out in an innocent like gesture before reaching down to scratch behind the ears of his new friend.

Finn scoffed, "Yeah, she followed you alright, but only coz you were baiting her with a double whooper,"

"Sue?" Mike repeated, confused. "But he's a boy. His name is Patch."

"So," Santana started as she dropped into the seat beside Puck, taking another swig of vodka straight from the bottle. "What's the deal with you and the motor-mouth midget?"

"Nothing." He denied immediately, drawing snorts from Mike and Finn and a patented eye roll from the Latina perched to his left.

"Ri-ight," she drawled, "because it's not painfully obvious that she set her sights on you the second her and Finn-essa came to the realization that two wrongs _do not_ make a right."

All eyes turned to Finn as they waited patiently for him to realize he was being insulted. "Hey!" he objected finally. He was promptly ignored as Santana steered the conversation back to topic.

"And anyone can see how you're just lapping it all up; you practically stalk her from class to class. If her daddies had any sense at all they would have slapped you with a restraining order already. After Zizes I didn't think you could get more pathetic."

"Are you questioning my baddassness?" Puck demanded, standing up and swaying a little as the alcohol in his system affected his balance. "Bring it,"

"Oh boy," Santana almost regretted her taunts because she knew exactly where this was going. The last time Puck felt the need to defend his manhood she'd had to blackmail her father with the photographs she'd acquired of him and his secretary in a compromising position for the $5000 to bail her ex fuck-buddy out. She was still pissed at Puckerman for that; she'd been saving that trump card for an all expenses trip to Cabo.

"Dare me," Puck was challenging, his gaze flitting from Mike, to Finn, to Santana.

"Dare you what?" Finn dared asked cluelessly.

"Anything! I'll show you!" Puck stared down his friends one by one, silently challenging them to come up with the craziest, most epic dare ever that would demonstrate once and for all that he was the baddest mo-fo sauntering the halls of McKinnley High, irrespective of who he was or wasn't dating (or trying to date, at least).

"Well, my brother has a pet snake," Mike volunteered, hesitantly, "But it's actually really pois-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Puck needed no further instruction, purposely heading for the stairs that led to the second story.

"Yeah, coz this is a good idea," Santana deadpanned, shaking her head at Mike before all three of them followed their friend.

Puck was already taking the lid of the glass enclosure in Mike's brother's room when they caught up.

"Um, dude." Mike tried again. "Bessie gets really cranky after she's eaten, and I only just-"

"Isn't she a beauty?" Puck breathed, impressed as he peered down at the motionlessly tiger snake.

"Puck…" Santana began warningly.

"Chillax mate, I got this," Puck assured her confidently, sparing a glance at Finn who was staring at the snake in terror and attempting to back away. He grinned as a plan began to form. Confidently he reached into the glass enclosure and grasped the snake with two hands, lifting her up and turning towards his best friend who seemed frozen in place.

"Bugger!" Puck grunted as two sharp fangs unexpectedly sank into the back of his hand. He immediately dropped Bessie back into her tank and cradled his injured hand to his chest, wincing as it immediately began to throb painfully.

"Shitburgers," he swore, his grimace becoming more pronounced as he turned back to his friends. "You guys, I think I might need some ice… and some aspirin." He added as an afterthought,

"Que` chingadoss! estupido hijo de puto!" Santana screeched in her native tongue as she dove towards him, touching his hand with uncharacteristic gentleness. Puck didn't need a translator to know she was calling him whatever the Spanish equivalent of a stupid fuck was. "You don't need ice you moron, you need a hospital. Finn!"

She kicked Finn in the shin with her stiletto, breaking him from his fear driven stupor. "Go bring round your car and Mike-" she spared a glance to the boy in question who was carefully putting the lid back on the snake's enclosure, crooning soothingly to the still hissing reptile.

"Yeah?" he answered worriedly, glancing at Puck.

The Latina just shook her head. "If he dies, expect a lawsuit." She advised, strangely satisfied when the Asian boy paled, even as she felt her stomach clench at the flippant insinuation that Puck's injury may be life threatening which, if they couldn't get their act together, it may very well be. He just had to be ok.

She and Rachel had never gotten along, and despite Puck's less than convincing declaration that there was nothing going on between him and Manhands, Santana knew that if anything happened to the former delinquent that Rachel had a demonstrable soft spot for, the shorter brunette would find a way to pin the blame all on her.

Finn and Santana rushed Puck to the car, leaving Mike behind to tend to his few remaining guests and his girlfriend who had passed out on top of the pool table. With the pleasant buzz she had acquired wearing off in light of their current crisis, Santana sat herself in the back seat with their injured party, halfheartedly promising him blow jobs and threesomes if he would just shut the fuck up with the whining and let her Google _"what to do when some dumbass gets themselves bitten by a deadly reptile" _as they sped off to the hospital.

After quickly scrolling through step by step emergency instructions to stop the venom from spreading, she reached for the edge of Puck's shirt and tore a strip of material from it.

"Hey! I paid thirty bucks for this shirt," he rasped weakly. His dilated pupils and sudden lethargy were alarming, and when his head lolled to the side and his eyelids fluttered, Santana knew she had to do whatever she could to keep him conscious and alert. So she continued to insult him, hoping he would snark right back and remain with them until he was in the hands of a medical professional.

"Well you paid twenty five dollars too much," she replied frankly. "The matching shorts make you look like a fucking pot plant." She reached into her hair and extracted the razor blade she always carried on her person and often threatened people with.

Puck noticed and immediately shrank back from her, "What the fuck is that for?"

She grabbed his hand and quickly made two incisions alongside the raised punctured marks from the snake's fangs. "Damage control," Santana answered as she lowered her mouth and began sucking the blood that had began to flow.

Puck made a sound of disgust and tried vainly to extract himself from her vice-like grip.

"Hold still," she instructed when she paused to spit the blood on the truck floor, "I'm trying to extract as much of the poison from his bloodstream as I can,"

"Holy shit," Finn muttered hoarsely from the front seat, not willing to divert his attention from the road ahead to turn around and see what exactly was happening behind him. "Is that safe?" he asked worriedly, "I mean he's already had something sucking his blood tonight, what if he loses too much?" It was clear Finn had no handle on the situation at hand.

"Snakes don't suck blood you idiot, they eat fucking rodents," Puck grumbled, recalling what he'd learned from the Discovery Channel that week, in the course of his intense research. "Fuck, crack a book once in while, yeah?"

"You try and wrangle, like, the most poisonous snake on the planet, and you think Finn's the dead shit," Santana scoffed with an exasperated shake of her head. Carefully she tied the strip of shirt around Puck's wrist and continuing to tighten the make shift tourniquet until he whimpered, his face growing paler than it had been in the delivery room years before when Quinn had given birth to Beth.

Despite the sadistic smile on her full lips, smeared crimson with tiny drops of blood, Santana turned to Finn who was clutching the steering wheel tightly, hunched forward in the drivers seat as he drove exactly three miles under the speed limit. "Damn it, Finn," Santana cursed as she glanced at the speedometer, "Can you step on it please? I'd like to actually make it to the hospital before his hand fucking falls off."

Finn squeaked and pressed his foot on the gas. He spared an anxious glance in the rear view mirror and caught sight of his best friend's pained expression. "Don't worry man, you're gonna make it." He said bravely, even though he was on the verge of tears himself and had no idea how he was going to explain this to Rachel - With Sam singing lead on _Blue Suede Shoes_ (Schue was on an Elvis kick at the moment), Puck was the only one strong enough to lift Mercedes in the second part of the choreography; if they had to rework it again, Rachel was likely to murder someone, and when she learned of Finn's encouragement of Puck's antics that night, the quarterback had a feeling he'd be her first target.

"Thanks bro," Puck managed, smiling weakly, too preoccupied with the burning sensation rapidly spreading up his arm to make some smart ass remark about his 80 year old Nana driving faster than what Finn currently was.

Seconds after they rushed into emergency, accosting the nearest nurse and thrusting Puck into her capable hands, he was being strapped onto a gurney and whisked through a set of white double doors, out of their sight.

Santana and Finn slumped against each other then and expelled long breaths, the relief they felt now that their friend was being looked after by professionals was palpable.

"So," the Latina broached after a few minutes. "Who's going to explain all this to Rachel?"

There was another moment of silence before they both yelled "Not it!"

They glared at each other until Finn eventually sighed in defeat and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. Scrolling through his contact list he had to brace himself before placing the call. He knew before she even answered with a terse, _"Finn Hudson, you better have a good explanation for interrupting my R.E.M cycle!"_ that Rachel was not going to take the news well.

***/***

"Noaaaaah," a sweet voice was sing-songing. "Noah, wake up!"

"Mmmm," Puck tried to turn over and cling to the last remnants of sleep but he found his body too heavy and lethargic to comply, and the drip in his arm was hindering any attempt at movement. "Shhh, Ma. Saturday. No School." he mumbled drowsily in clipped sentences.

Another more incessant '_Noah_' (this one less sweet and more demanding) was accompanied by a sharp pinch that had his eyes shooting open.

Rachel's eyebrows were furrowed as she leaned over his bed, her face barely an inch from his. A quick cursory glance revealed that yes, he could see down her gaping shirt (he might be lying in a hospital bed, but he wasn't dead). He hid his smirk with a theatrical moan that would make Bab's herself proud, and a weak, "Rach, is that you? What are you doing here?"

"You're in the hospital, Noah," Rachel explained softly, thinking she had to remind him of where he was, not justify her presence. "You provoked Mike's little brother's pet snake," she continued, censure creeping into her tone. "You were bitten, and it was only Santana's quick thinking and perfunctory first aid skills that saved you from certain amputation!" Her voice had got all loud and disapproving at the end there and he winced, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"Calm your shit," he replied tiredly, wishing he'd had time to grab a shower and down a gallon of coffee before having to face her. She looked less than impressed and while he was the first to admit a pissy Berry was a smokin' Berry, he wasn't quite feeling up to hearing her recite the 10 page lecture she had probably been drafting for the last 8 hours. "S'just a little bite; they gave me a shot, no big deal-"

"Noah, it was a tiger snake! You could have died!" She insisted shrilly, her eyes growing wet.

Shit, not the tears.

"Hey, shhh," luckily, she was standing on his left side, away from his swollen and strapped right hand, so he snagged her around the waist with his good arm and tugged until she dutifully crawled up onto the bed with him, her tiny elfin self easily molding to his side.

She took a deep breath and he could feel the shakiness of it as her diaphragm expanded and her chest pressed against him in the best possible way. He breathed in the scent of her cherry blossom shampoo and subtly shifted his hips so she wouldn't feel anything that might suddenly crop up.

"I'm fine," he assured her, more tenderly than anyone would expect of him. But then, Rachel never brought into his whole "Puck" persona like so many of their friends and classmates. It was easier to be Noah around her.

"I don't know what I would have done if you weren't," she confessed meekly, tucking her face into his neck and taking a minute to just breathe in the familiar scent of him, even though the sterile hospital smell was so potent it was almost suffocating. "You are so reckless!" she accused a minute later, her voice stronger. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking Finn would shit a brick if I came at him with old Bessie," He chuckled at the thought. "You should have seen his face when I picked it up, I thought he was gonna stroke,"

"He very nearly did," she told him seriously, absently stroking his bare chest, seemingly unaware of the effect her touch was having on his body. "When he called me last night from the waiting room I could barely make out what he was saying. He was crying so hard, Santana had to take his phone and explain to me what had happened."

"Kind of expected you would be here," Puck remarked casually toying with the end of her hair. "Thought you would have barged in here in the middle of the night, insisting you be allowed to take my vitals yourself." He was sort of disappointed that she hadn't.

"I tried," she admitted, propping up on one elbow to look at him. "The nurses here are quite stringent though and refused me after hours visitation rights, even_ after_ I threatened to lodge a complaint with the hospital board about their obvious lack of concern for their patient's psychological welfare. I even had your mother phone, insisting I was your significant other and that if you were denied the sight of my overwhelming beauty at your bedside, you'd likely lose your will to live."

He wanted to laugh hysterically at that, and the earnestness of her expression, but he was caught up on something else. "You called my Ma?" She and her new beau had taken his little sister to a swim meet in Cleveland and last he heard they weren't due back until Sunday night. He'd been looking forward to drinking beer in his underwear on his couch all weekend, and he was totally fine now that they'd pumped him full of pain killers, so he hoped his short hospitalization wasn't going to cause a change in their plans.

Rachel was nodding, "I have her programmed on speed dial 9," she supplied matter-of-factly. He should have been freaked out by that little tid-bit of information, but he was more interested in who the first eight contacts were (and where he ranked), and whether Rachel having his mother programmed could be an indication of her possibly reciprocating his feelings. He thought it was a good sign.

"Our combined efforts were futile though, because they had security escort me out when they caught me sneaking in shortly after 2AM, and banned me from returning until after 9 o'clock this morning." He _had_ heard yelling outside his room at one point but he put it down to some fruit loop escaping the mental ward and had been too doped up at the time to care.

"It's only just gone 8," he stated, after confirming the early hour.

"My negotiation skills are second to none," she smiled triumphantly.

He just shook his head.

After grabbing a quick shower, submitting to a final once over and accepting the prescription for painkillers the doctor had written as he signed the discharge papers, Puck was feeling well enough to walk on his own but if Rachel wanted to press her tight little body against his, wind her arm around his waist and lead him out to her tiny Prius at a snails pace, he wasn't going to offer any objections.

He slung his arm over her shoulder 'for support' and when his palm 'accidentally' grazed her breast, she didn't even blink. Rachel had already informed him (in a no nonsense voice that indicated she expected him to argue the point with her) that she was accompanying him home and would remain there as his personal nurse maid until his mother returned from her trip.

He could see already that his convalescence was going to come with some perks.

"Honestly, Noah," she couldn't help but chastise him as she opened the passenger door for him, prolonging their contact and needlessly holding his uninjured hand as he slid inside. "I, more than anyone, understand the importance of committing one's self completely to a role, but the lengths you went to last night to authenticate your portrayal of Steve Irwin bordered on the ridiculous."

"Whatever," he jutted his chin out stubbornly, "The Crocodile Hunter is totally badass babe, not like that pansy-ass Hugh Jack-off you're always going on about,"

She must have caught the edge of jealously in his voice because she paused in her task of bucking his seat belt for him and tilted her head to the side as she considered his petulant expression.

"The Crocodile Hunter was, as you say, very _badass_, Noah, but do I have to remind you that as a result of his foolish antics, he's now dead? As for Hugh Jackman, do you even know who he is?"

"I know he sang in one of those gay-ass musicals you sprout lady wood for," he answered evasively. Sure he had abandoned his research on the guy almost immediately but he knew enough. Whatever, with a name like _Hugh_ the dude was sure to be a walking vagina.

Rachel straightened placed her hand on the open car door and smiled, correctly interpreting his prolonged silence as his ignorance when it came to the amazing body of work on Hugh Jackman's resume. She took it upon herself to educate him, "Have you ever seen those X-Men movies, Noah?" she enquired, picking the film she was sure would most appeal to reckless teenage boys.

Puck snorted, because, _of course_.

"Wolverine," She stated simply, waiting until his eyes widened in recognition. With a small giggle she shut his door and rounded the hood to the driver's side.

Well, shit. He could_ totally_ pull off Wolverine, Puck decided, flipping down the mirror on the visor and tilting his face to the right as he considered his profile, mentally calculating how long it would take to grow out his facial hair. He already had the guns conditioned and ready to flaunt, could rock the leather jacket like the baddest kind of mo-fo, and had been looking for an excuse to buy a motorcycle….

He turned to smirk predatorily at Rachel as she slid in behind the wheel and smiled back at him, turning the ignition with a flick of her tiny wrist.

Oh yeah, chicks creamed for a dude on a 'cycle_. He was in._


End file.
